


Musicality

by Spacecloudz



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: AU, Ballet, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-28
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-09-01 16:30:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 4,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16768783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Spacecloudz/pseuds/Spacecloudz
Summary: Simon dances, Baz plays the piano. Simon is stubborn, and so is Baz. (Shocker)Baz lives with his aunt after getting kicked out by his dad. He knows he needs to get out of Fiona’s hair soon, so he finds a new job.Simon lives with his best friend and dances with a prominent ballet company.Their lives are meant to intertwine this way.Basically a dumb ballet au nobody asked for lol





	1. Chapter 1

BAZ

Music always seemed to be a part of me wherever I went. It was a soundtrack only I could hear, and pumped through my veins, not unlike the blood that kept me alive. 

Crowley, I sound like a prat. A stuck up snobby prat who only listens to Brahms and Tchaikovsky while he sips wine. I do listen to Brahms and Tchaikovsky, a remnant of my classical upbringing, but I’ve always felt the best if I had David Bowie or The Replacements pummelling through the speakers.

That's probably one of the side effects of my so-called “classical upbringing”. My father should’ve expected I’d rebel sooner or later. 

Maybe my mother would’ve treated me differently if she had been here to witness my little rebellion, I will never know. I knew my father ached for her sometimes. I haven’t seen him in a few years, though, perhaps he has changed. 

The only memory I have of my mother is of her hands- they were rough, and I can only see them holding a cigarette and with Dave Brobeck lilting through the background. 

If she had stayed, I know music would still be one of my fundamentals, my rock in a spinning ocean. 

But she left. And I can play almost any instrument and song. 

I teach lessons, mainly piano, to young children so I can help Fiona out with groceries and bills. She’s my aunt, who I have been living with for the past few years.

Even though I am 25 years her junior, I still feel like a worried parent from time to time, some nights when she doesn’t come home or some days when she won’t leave her bed. 

As a product of the eighties, Fiona never learned how to properly rebel. She's a downright drama queen, and a pain in the ass sometimes. I’m pretty sure she was born with a pink mohawk. 

She refuses to get a steady job as well, complaining about capitalism and the lot, so she just lives off of her trust fund. 

When I left, father sealed off that option for me. Probably because he’s a homophobic prick who only cares about passing on the family name and bloodline. 

The piano lessons aren't going too well now, with the kids all off to summer camps and exotic locations. I saw an ad in the papers a few days ago, and it paid well, enough for what Fiona and I needed and a bit extra. 

When I was twelve, my father took me to the ballet- he probably didn’t mean for it to be my gay awakening but we can’t plan everything, can we. 

Crowley, I hope Fiona knows I’m grateful. Her support has mainly been trying to get me hammered at gay bars, but she means well.

I’m trying to save up some money to get my own place, get out of her hair, finally after all these years. I love her, and she loves me, but she never wanted kids, never wanted to be responsible for someone. Truth be told, I don’t either, and we both need to live our own lives. 

So here I am in the office of the ballet company partly responsible for my sexuality, applying to play live music at the dancer’s rehearsals. 

An elderly woman whose name I didn’t catch is asking me about my life right now because, yes, that's what you do when you are interviewing someone for a job. 

I am actively choosing to not mention my rather complicated family life and trying to emphasize the extents of my musical talents. I have been playing the piano since I was very young, yes I am familiar with Gershwin and Joby Talbot. 

Well, that’s what I was doing, until the door slams open and I see yellow curls and a bloody nose. 

SIMON

Bloody Trixie and her pointy elbows. She’s a lovely dancer, of course, but from far away and not from the perspective of someone (me) trying to get her into what should be a simple shoulder sit. 

The choreographer had counted us off, and then all I felt was blood streaming down my face. I’ve broken my nose so many times I’ve lost count, so the pain didn’t really bother me. But the blood, oh there was so much. 

I sprinted up the stairs to the office where the bandages and ice packs were kept. I could probably set it myself, and it would probably heal before our performance. 

I open the office door and run towards the medical cabinet. 

BAZ  
Surely somebody with that much blood covering them shouldn’t sound as cheerful as this git does. 

“Miss,” he says “We really need to move this cabinet closer to the studios.”

The elderly woman interviewing me squints at his face. 

“Trixie?” She asks. He nods. She sighs. “I'll talk to her later.” 

Most of the blood is wiped off by now, and I catch his eye. And then I promptly freeze, because bloody hell, this man is beautiful. 

SIMON

I notice that Miss Possibelf had a man sitting in front of her, and they seemed to be in the middle of discussing something. 

I look at him. He seems to be my age and a solid bloke. I exchange nods with him before rushing out of the office with ice packs in hand. Our current choreographer is a bit of a prick and is probably fuming at the thought of being kept waiting. 

Penelope says I’m not as thick as I think I am, but right now I want to prove her wrong, because it's not until I’m back at the studio, marking the repertoire with Trixie, when I realize that the image of the man in the office is still sticking in my head. 

His gaze is like an earworm, a catchy song that won’t escape. Maybe I’ve seen him somewhere? I’m coming up with all sorts of possibilities (Famous dancer, royalty, bartender, an old classmate, friend-of-a-friend) but it still doesn’t make sense to me.  
So I tuck that thought away and don’t think about it. That's a thing I do sometimes, not thinking about things. I focus instead on Trixie as the choreographer counts us off yet another time.


	2. Chapter 2

SIMON

Tap. 

“Simon.”

Tap Tap. 

“Simon!”

Tap tap tap tap tap. 

“Wake up! I got scones!”

“Penny?”

“Yeah?”

“What time is it?”

“Time to get up and seize the day!”

“Penny?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you shut up?”

“I have scones!”

I groaned and headed to the bathroom. 

When I got to the kitchen, Penelope, my roommate, was sitting on the counter, sipping a mug of tea and scrolling through her phone. 

“Good morning sunshine!” She says, rather cheerfully for this early hour. I grunt in response. She hands me a mug of tea and multiple scones. I scarf them down. 

“I was thinking we should head out now-ish?’ She asks. “ I have to get to the library in an hour and I know you don't start for another hour and a half.” I look at her skeptically. 

“Why would I want to leave early?” I ask. 

“Acai bowls?” she says. 

“Crowley, I thought I was the white one in this friendship.” I’m pretty sure Penny is a bit Indian or something. 

She hops off of the counter. 

“Yes, that would be you, but are you really going to deny the greatness of acai bowls?” 

“Yeah,” I say because as much as I love her, it is 7:30. In the morning. 

She heaves a dramatic sigh and struts towards the door. 

I roll my eyes fondly and start packing my lunch. 

BAZ

I got the job of course. The woman, whom I now know is Miss Possibelf, was practically swooning over my resume. 

I spent the weekend reading up on the dance company and its history. A Pitch is never unprepared. 

I arrive at the studio 15 minutes before I am needed, and wait in a small cafe across the street. It is cozy and their tea isn’t half bad. 

I open the book I am currently reading (A Separate Peace) and get a few chapters through before I glance at the time and realize I should start heading to the studio. 

SIMON

I had pretty much succeeded in getting the man from the office out of my head, but when I turned into the studio, all my efforts went to waste. 

He was sitting there, behind the piano. Agatha was leaning over the piano and talking to him. 

As usual, I barely arrived on time, so I didn't have time to interrogate Agatha about him. 

During barre, I attempted to ask her about him. Agatha is one of my closest friends other than Penelope. We tried to date, but that didn’t exactly go superbly. Penelope says it is because I’m a Taurus and she is an Aquarius, but it probably was because we were too different- not in a good "opposites attract" way. 

Agatha is impossibly graceful. She used to do competitions and got a ton of scholarships, but luckily for me, she chose this studio, and I got another friend. 

She trained at the Royal Ballet School so all the choreographers and teachers here adore her. It is only natural, Agatha was probably put out by aliens at birth to be adored by everyone. 

The piano guy probably adores her. He was probably flirting with her and they are going to date and get married and have a million pretty little ballet babies and-

The piano guy has a really nice face. Like a really nice face. And his eyes. His eyes are really really nice. 

We are supposed to be doing an adagio combination and I catch his eye and we hold eye contact and he has really nice eyes and I can feel my face getting red and I am supposed to be in a panche right now but I lose my footing and I fall in a very un-graceful manner. 

Shit. Now he (and the rest of the company) are definitely staring at me. 

I scramble to get up and continue with the combination. Piano guy looks like he is stifling a laugh. 

Is he laughing at me?

He probably thinks I’m stupid and uncoordinated now. He’s going to sit behind the piano for the next 35 years and he is probably going to judge my every move and I’m going to keep on falling and-

His opinion matters too much to me for a guy I don’t even know. Still, I wish I knew what he was thinking. 

BAZ

He. Is. Wearing. Tights. 

AGATHA

Simon corners me after class. He was trying to ask me questions about Basilton all class, but I remained mum. 

“Who is the new piano guy? Where did he come from? Don’t you think his music is great? Do you think-”

I cut him off. 

“Why are you so curious about him?” I ask. 

The tips of his ears turn endearingly pink. He mutters some excuse about recognizing him or something, I don’t quite catch it. He starts to walk away from me. 

“Simon, no, wait, I was only teasing,” I laugh. “His name is Basilton and he's from around here. I tried to get more information-”

“Like his number?” He says. 

“Oh fuck off, I tried. Did not catch any of my ‘hey wanna hang’ vibes.”

“A human male? Not responding to the lovely Agatha’s vibes? What parallel universe did we slip into while I was asleep last night?” He says jokingly. 

“I completely agree,” I say. “Maybe he’s gay or something.”

“Or something..” he says. “Like an alien or a mutant or a-”

“Sorry babe, this schedule right here,” I tap the schedule posted on the wall, “Says I have to be at Serenade rehearsal in 10 and..” I examine it closer, “You should be in that weird contemporary rehearsal around five minutes ago.” 

His eyes widen and he swears as he sprints down the hallway while I laugh softly. 

SIMON

Gay. Or something. 

BAZ

I only had to do two classes today, the company one, and another one full of pre-teens. I could barely focus for the latter. 

Simon, as I now know his name to be, is stuck in my head. 

He caught me staring at him halfway through class and was probably so creeped out he fell over. 

That's okay, it's not like I need for him to have a good first impression of me. He seems definitely straight. 

Typical of me to fall for the only straight guy in a room full of attractive gay guys. I can validate that stereotype, Omar and Fernando and Devon all tried (unsuccessfully, I might add) to chat me up after the class. 

He and that blonde girl who he was laughing with are probably dating and they probably will get married and have a million ballet babies. 

Maybe I’ll be hired to play the music as she walks down the aisle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adagio- term used to mean a combination of slow, precise, and often challenging steps at a slow tempo. 
> 
> Panche- like a vertical splits thingy (literally everyone’s ballet insta has one of these on it) 
> 
> Serenade- my fave ever go google it we stan 
> 
> Peace
> 
> r


	3. Chapter 3

SIMON  
Its been three or four weeks since Basilton appeared seemingly out of nowhere. I have had maybe two conversations- if you count the exchange of common pleasantries- with him.

He is a bit taller than me and has longish dark hair and the poshest accent. I don’t know where he’s from, but he’s definitely not from wherever I came from.

I’ve asked Agatha over and over again if she has anything new on him, and she’s starting to get annoyed with me.

To be honest, I still don’t know why he captivates me as much as he does. I’ve chalked it up to him being a seemingly unsolvable mystery and my childhood fixation on Nancy Drew and Encyclopedia Brown.

This is a list I made on things I know about Basilton- (I actually wrote it down in the journal my one-time therapist gave me)  
He comes from a posh family  
He is good at the piano

That’s all.

It's driving me insane, not knowing any of this.

I pick up my pen and make a note in the margin of my notebook- Become friends with Basilton

PENELOPE

Simon’s been acting strangely.

He tried to subtly ask me about the best methods to stalk someone online. Nothing about Simon is subtle, and he blushed and changed the subject when I asked him why.

He either has found a mortal enemy or he’s found a crush. I hope its the latter. 

When we were in school, he always thought everyone was out to get him, out plotting against him.

I could barely take it by the eighth year.  
Crowley, I hope it’s a crush. Maybe it’s Agatha? No, it can’t be, not again. I love Simon, and Agatha’s okay, I guess, but they were definitely not meant to be. Too diferent.

He needs to find someone sometime soon. I feel guilty about my luck with Micah, and Simon’s- well, Simon’s unluckiness.

I’ve tried to set him up with every available girl I know. None have worked.  
Unless-

No. Simon Snow is the straightest one out there. Aside from the whole ballet thing, of course. Not that ballet is a girly thing, it absolutely is not.

I’ve seen Simon come home with bruises up and down his back from his modern pieces, and one time, he did the entire grand pas from Swan Lake with a fractured knee.

He’s the strongest person I know- and not just because I’m fairly certain he can bench press me and the tea kettle at the same time.

He’s gone through a lot- dead parents, no money- the whole shebang. In school, the thing I wanted most was to whisk him away from everything and hold him close to me until everything was okay.

I did whisk him away, but I’m not sure about the whole everything-being-ok part.

He still has nightmares sometimes.  
Even as his best friend, I barely have any clue about his past or how he started dancing. I’ve pieced bits and pieces together, but there still are gaps in the story.

SIMON

It’s Micah’s birthday today, so I’ve been kicked out of the flat for the rest of the day. Penny has a whole day planned for him (most of which, I’m sure, I do not want to be around for) I would care a bit about that, except it doesn’t matter because I have another all day rehearsal for the next season’s repertoire.

I am not looking forward to the rehearsal. For one part, this arsehole twat of a choreographer hates me.

Penny says I say everyone hates me, and that’s simply not true, but this pretentious prick really detests me.

I don’t know where I went wrong- clearly somewhere. Maybe my schoolboy charm, as Penny says, didn’t work on him. He yells at me far too much and not for important enough things.

I wouldn’t mind it, I’ve grown very used to tiny Russian ladies yelling at me for my daftness, but what really bugs me is that Basilton sees it all.

I hate the fact that he sees me like that-   
at my weakest.

The rest of the company seeing doesn't bother me at all, we are all, for the most part, a close-knit group, a family, but 

Basilton is an outsider.

I can’t stand it.

BAZ

I’d be complaining about the weekly long rehearsal hours if it weren't for a few things. Or, rather, one person.

Simon Snow.

I’m completely infatuated, and I hate it. I hate that his hair and eyes and jaw and nose make me feel this way.

I want to stand at the top of a building and yell about how great he is, but at the same time, I despise myself because of what a fucking creep I am.

I am a creep. I found his Instagram and then spent an hour looking at it.  
Who does that?

A fucking creep, that’s who.

Like seriously, he’s probably never given me a second thought, but I’ve already cried over him?

Alright, maybe that was because of the wine Fiona kept pushing on me. She has a slight drinking problem and not enough friends to hide it, so she’s corrupted me, her nephew. 

So yes, Simon Snow is spinning through my head as I sit on the bus on my way to the studio.

SIMON

Penny is going insane. This happens every time when Micah visits, and right now she is stress-cleaning our flat. 

Everything has to be perfect for Micah.

I almost don’t know what to do with myself with these extra minutes. Usually, when I leave our flat I’m running to the bus station.

I almost take a detour to a nearby cafe, but then decide against it, it really would be nice to get to the studio early, to stretch a bit and chat with Agatha. Maybe even Bailton. He seems like the type of bloke to be on time for things.

Then I can check off my last note- be friends with Basilton, because maybe my “schoolboy charm”, whatever the fuck that is, will work on him. 

I head over to the bus station.

BASILTON

I usually like to arrive at the studio a few minutes early, get my sheet music in order or chat with the other pianists in the faculty lounge.

I did leave a few minutes late, but only because Fiona’s one night stand was using the shower.

My phone buzzes and I check it. Maybe it’s not exclusively a one night stand.

From: Fiona Pitch  
heyy bazzy hon could u not come home for a little bit

From: Baz Pitch  
Dear God Fiona. Are you shagging the bloke who used my shampoo?

From: Fiona Pitch  
;)

From: Baz Pitch  
Please keep it on YOUR bed this time.

From: Baz Pitch  
Also please use a condom.

From: Baz Pitch  
Wait what do you mean by a little bit?

From: Fiona Pitch  
i’ll try to the first 2 and not until i give u the bat signal to the 3rd

From: Baz Pitch  
Capitalization is a thing, you know.

From: Fiona Pitch  
thx ur my fave nefew

From: Baz Pitch  
I’m your only nePHew

I click off my phone and rest my chin on my hand and look out the bus window. 

The bus screeches to a stop, and I glance at the scene outside- school children walking to school, commuters going to work

I’m at peace, or I was at peace until a rather heavy bag crashes on to my lap.

SIMON

My dance bag is a mess. First I have my tap shoes, which I needed while we were rehearsing Alice in Wonderland and I haven’t taken them out since. Then I have my jazz shoes, sneakers, and around five pairs of soft shoes in a bunch of different colors depending on which tights the costume calls for.

I usually carry around a few stretching items as well, rubber balls and rollers, and multiple pairs of sweatpants. I also have my lunch and let’s be honest, I eat a fuckload of food every day.

So yes, my bag is probably pretty heavy. I’ve gotten used to it, as one does, but today Penny gave me a mug of tea and I was trying to maneuver the crowded bus without spilling it, when I tripped.

All my focus went to not letting the mug spill and my bag’s strap slid down my shoulder and on to some poor person’s lap. I spin around to see who it is, and holy shit.

It’s a face I’m too familiar with.

It’s Basilton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ahaha now that nutcracker is over i actually means i have to focus on finals ughgh
> 
> but at least ya boi is a procastinator and wrote this instead of studying for a bunch of Very Important Tests
> 
> Also shoutout if u know what Alice in wonderland role uses tap shows


	4. Chapter 4

BAZ

I break whatever this extremely awkward eye contact is (Simon’s gaze is intense) by looking down at the empty seat next to me. 

Ah. Yes. Manners are a thing I have evidently forgotten about. 

“Do you want this seat?”

“Yeah, thanks mate!” He says, a bit eagerly. He’s like a very giant puppy- in the shape of a, well, a very giant man. A giant, quite fit man. I try to ignore the fact that he could probably pick me up. (Not that he hasn’t already swept me off my feet. I fucking hate myself)

And suddenly our shoulders are touching. I feel every cell in my body stop for a moment. 

“Um- sorry I- uh- I don’t mean to be rude or anything,” Simon says, “but can I have my bag back?”

I look at the dark strap clutched in my hands. 

“Shit sorry, of course,” I stammer. Tyrannus Basilton Grimm Pitch never stammers. What has this guy done to me? What have I become?

He laughs, and I see no reason why my heart had not grown wings and flown out of my chest. 

He holds his hand out to me. 

We shake hands. His are the same size as mine, quite surprisingly, but his are a lot warmer than mine. My hands are always freezing, for some reason, so I don’t see this as an unusual occurrence. 

“I’m Simon Snow.”

“Baz Pitch.”

“Huh. Well, Baz Pitch, I must say it is a pleasure to finally meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine, Snow.”

SIMON

It appears that he doesn’t go by Basilton. Strange. I don’t know what I expected, but certainly not that. Maybe Basil. Ilton isn’t a name, right? Maybe Ilton. 

He seems less far away than how he seemed to me every other time I’d seen him, but maybe that’s because we are crammed into a bus seat meant for two very small people. Our shoulders are squeezed together. Mine, in a ratty sweatshirt, and his in what is probably a very expensive shirt. 

It’s a relatively short ride to the studio, twenty minutes or so, but it feels even shorter than usual. I learn a bit about him, about his favorite musicians (The Replacements and Beyonce), his background (every bit as posh as I’d suspected). 

Turns out he teaches a bit of piano classes to kids on the side, and he lives with his aunt. 

We arrive at the stop and walk a few blocks to the studio. 

When I pull on the door, it doesn’t open. Upon closer inspection, it appears locked. 

I look at Baz quizzically.

“Did you hear anything about the studio being closed today?”

“No, I don't think so….” he trails off, pulling his phone out to check. 

BAZ

The door is locked, which could mean a few things. 

One, fate has finally realized what it owed me. 

Two, the last person would have accidentally locked the door. 

Three, the local gangs could’ve taken control of the studio and turned it into their latest headquarters of sorts. 

Crowley, I hope it’s the first one. 

While I am mulling the possibilities, Snow is frantically dialing someone. 

“Aggie? Hey, I was wondering-

“How did you know that was what I was calling about?

“Oh Ok

“Uh huh”

He hangs up and looks at me sheepishly. 

“Turns out… the studio isn’t exactly open today.”

“Seriously?”

He nods. 

“How do you know?”

“Aggie told me.”

“Aggie?”

“Agatha- my friend”

Oh. The flirty blonde who would someday mother she and Snow’s perfect little minions. 

“Mate, you know we aren’t dating right? You can go for her, man. She’s totally into you,” he says.

“Yes, I sort of got that impression from her. I must say her efforts are admirable, but she’s not really my type.”

He waggled his eyebrows at me, and I roll my eyes in response. 

“Damn, if Aggie isn’t your type should I assume that your into that whole tentacle porn thing?”

I start laughing. “No, I’m gay. Sorry, no tentacle interest here.”

SIMON

I’m about to make a joke about tentacle hentai when I remember the current situation. 

I groan, running my hands through my hair. 

“My roommate has banned me from entering our flat for the rest of today”

“Shit mate, that sucks,” Baz said. 

“I’ve got my laptop, I guess I’ll spend the rest of the day doing schoolwork,” I say, reluctantly. 

He bites his lip, like he’s thinking really hard. 

“I’ve just got a bunch of errands I’ve been putting off for a bit, I guess I could do that today. 

Ugh. Even that sounds better than term papers and preparing powerpoints. I tell him so. 

He chuckles. “I mean, if you are truly reading whatever you have to do for school, I suppose you could come with me.”

The relief on my face must be apparent. 

“Mate, I know you probably meant that as a joke, but I don’t care. I’m coming with you to do whatever you are about to do.”

BAZ

Well. I didn’t think fate owed me quite this much. 

SIMON

Sure, forcing myself into someone else’s (whom I barely know) errand routine might be against every law of politeness out there, but I get a pass as nobody’s ever taught me, right? 

Plus, it's all in the noble pursuit of becoming Baz’s friend!

I think that whatever forces are in charged of this whole ettique thing totally forgive me. 

Misson: Baz and Simon, BFFs forever, officially in motion. 

Yes, I realise that nobody over the age of eleven uses the term “BFFs”, but this gets an exception, right?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes I know it’s been a while but a sense makes the heart grow fonder, right? (dw I know this is a mess) 
> 
> Feel free to roast me or whatever in the comments 
> 
> Other than that, have a good day y’all

**Author's Note:**

> hA
> 
> -r


End file.
